Fly

Blind the fold
palate the visual field
paint your scent
down my throat
intrude
display
chant the image you can't withold
keeping the rhythm with your scold
make new the energy
refuse to grow old
this twisted tongue
tortures my come
there are things so wrong
that would destroy you pure
and then I'd laugh
so immature
alone you stroke
quick in this weak end
I'll show you the enemy
it's quite a handful
it's so wrong
dark and mistaken
slowly slide
these word corrupt to become a frown
for no smile I seek
in contorted bones
thrust
psycho drone
hurry and come alone
come back home
and heal.

Television

Down by the shed
I saw the rabbit dead
and the Pleiades overhead
ramming the pile of shit instead
roadkill
but the shades are cool.

Down by the shed
the rabbit I named
Arnie
and in the box with the other dancing star
not as bright as Sirius by far
red eyed on hiatus
her hair matching
no free lunch
just an absence of air.

Down by the shed
the twins are fall
in the eastern sky at dawn
and the fox is silent
in vanity I warn
the horn in the wax of the crown
the Lion growls.

Down by the shed
the grey skies torn
in darkness rounded the ration
the fingers fitting the glove
of the skin because
artificial being born
to replace the original
mistaken before
every copy.

Down by the shed
after the occult of blood red
the glow lost in shadow
and will come again
that second hand shine
sinister in wine
weeping
no contact.

Down by the shed
the rabbit still dead
roadkill from the northern
most light
tip top
ship shape
occlusion great
horseless and paved
the trail leading to the shed.

They

are good
with tools...

and have mapped all the stars
but one they lose.

Roadkills end trails
are tails.